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I sat up then, wanting to be looking at her while we had the rest of this conversation. My nerves were settled, and I felt more clearheaded. “I’m not sure where to begin, really. There’s a lot I could say?—”
She went from red-hot temper to cool, calm, and collected in seconds. It was unnerving the way she could mask her emotions. We’d have to tackle that habit at a later date, though. Rome wasn’t built in a day, right?
“I was very nervous yesterday morning, as you know.” She looked to me as if she wanted a response, so I nodded. It was the truth. I’d known she didn’t want to go in the first place, and I’d insisted she do it anyway. I had to fight the urge to fall on the sword and take all the blame. Even though her resulting behavior was the real problem and only she could account for it.
My wife continued explaining. “While I was getting ready, I found cold medicine beneath the sink. I remembered when we were in high school, we used to shoot that nasty shit.” She physically shuddered at the memory. “In a moment of admittedly”—she raised her hand over head as if hushing a crowd—“very poor judgment, I drank some. It didn’t end well. The end.” She gave a careless shrug like the matter was done and buried.
“Agatha.” I sighed.
She took my hands in hers and held them while begging, “I’m going to implore you not to nag me about the decision on top of everything else I suffered for it. Honestly, Carmen, it was stupid. Lesson learned. Can we just leave it there?”
I stared at her for a long time. Longer than she was comfortable with, because she was first to break the gaze and fidget with the bedding.
“Baby, listen. I don’t want to be the nag, or the wet blanket, or whatever. I’m worried about you. I don’t want to lose you to a decision as stupid as that or worse. Does where I’m coming from make sense at all?”
She had to see that I was doing all this from the right place in my heart. I continued to explain how that bullshit yesterday led to my meltdown today.
“With that so fresh on the brain”—I tapped my temple—“today, when I couldn’t get in touch with you, I freaked out. And I can admit fault here too. That was way over the top. I know that. I’m completely embarrassed, honestly.”
Her sweet smile was genuine this time. “It was sort of sweet. The way you came busting in here, ready to save the day, all action hero style.”
“Yeah, but I left work early, so now I won’t get paid for a full day. And I’ll have to explain to Elijah why I was acting so crazy?—”
“Don’t you dare tell him, Carmen. He will turn right around and tell my sister, and my Gggooooddd…” She emphasized the word like a teenager mid-rant. “You think you overreacted? You haven’t seen anything until you see the perfect Hannah lose her shit.”
Okay…there was something buried right beneath the surface on that comment too, but we needed to stay on topic or nothing would get solved. I almost wondered if she did that to get the spotlight off herself and distract me with a different topic.
“Calm down,” I said and swept her hands in mine again. “I’m always careful not to air our laundry where he can see, you know? Trust me on that.”
“Fair enough.” She nodded. “But you’re going to have to start trusting me too. You can’t overreact that way every time you don’t get in touch the second you try. I have a life too. It may not meet your approval, the things I’ve been choosing to do throughout the day, but I’m trying to get my shit together. I really am.”
“All right. All right.” She made a good point, and it was only fair to give the same trust I was asking for from her. “Can I ask you another question?”
“Umm, I’m not sure I have a choice here. Kinda feels like I’m on the witness stand, you know?”
“Well, I’m sorry about that. It’s not my intention.” Silence filled the room because I wanted her permission to keep digging in on this drinking issue.
“Go. Shoot. Ask what you want to ask,” she finally caved. “Let’s get this over with,” she muttered.
And I wouldn’t let the snarky tone derail me, either. “Have you been drinking behind my back any other times? Besides the cough syrup, I mean.”
“No,” she snapped instantly. But she also didn’t add more.
“I’m really not trying to interrogate you. I just want you to shoot straight with me. You know I’ve been bothered with this issue since Vegas. I don’t want to watch you waste your abundant talent and potential because it’s an easy balm to some unaddressed wound.”
“Christ, you sound like a shrink,” she teased but with enough bite to it to make me pause. I thought she was kidding, anyway…
Chapter Eighteen
Agatha
By now, I was hanging on to my good nature by my fingernails. I’d thought when I moved out of my parents’ house, these types of Q&A sessions were done. The last person I would expect to have to answer to like this was my husband.
So why was that bitch Guilt dancing the Watusi all over my heart?
The answer was as plain as the hopeful look on my guy’s face. Because I cared about the man. If I shot straight with myself for a change, it was even more than that.
Fucking feelings. Never was good at the things. And this one was growing and gaining momentum like a snowball rolling downhill. These heart-to-hearts he insisted on having were partly to blame. The mind-blowing sex we had the night before and every other time before that added to the big picture too. Then there were the quiet moments we spent together. Not saying anything, just existing in the same space.
